


Avengers: Unite

by polariis



Series: Earth-4997 [1]
Category: Avengers (Comics), Inhumans (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Humor, Anti-Venom Symbiote (Marvel) - Freeform, Ben Isn't A Clone, Bisexual MJ, Canon-Typical Violence, Cap Sam Wilson, Cindy Moon has the Anti-Venom Symbiote, Clea Strange is british, Colombian Julia Carpenter, Comic Book Science, Eventual Romance, Everyone Is Gay, Gay Miles Morales, Hispanic Jessica Drew, Idiot Superheroes, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Jane Foster Thor, Julia Carpenter Spider-Woman, Kree (Marvel), Lesbian Liz Allan, MJ Watson is Arachne, Mild Domestic Avengers, Miles Morales is a bean and also Spider-Man, Monica Rambeau Captain Marvel, Multi, Mutant Politics, Nick Fury Dies, Non-Canon Alternate Universe, Obscure Characters receive love and attention, Pansexual Clea Strange, Pansexual Crystal, Past Relationship(s), Romani Jewish Gay Maximoffs - Freeform, Sam Wilson is and has always been the better Cap, Science, Slow Build, Steve Rogers is Not Captain America, Steve Rogers is a Boring White Man, everyone is LGBTQ+, hydra jessica drew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-05-24 07:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14950055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polariis/pseuds/polariis
Summary: "It didn't help that he had gotten bit by a spider, either. Everything felt like it was going to give him a rash on his brain, if that was even a thing.(It wasn't.)He could, arguably, help her out and go with her to Manhattan with literally no way to get back home except for with a car he had no licence to drive, but that seemed very stupid. Plus, he skipped his driving lessons over the summer to go do random stuff with his friends, so he had to wonder if he could actually drive a car.(He couldn't.)"• ♡ •Nick Fury is dead, crime has gone rampant globally, and the number of recorded superhumans has spiked since then.Heroes once saved the world from Galactus and A.I.M., but those people are long gone.The world needs new protectors.It needs... Avengers.





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this is set in an alternate universe that I HAVE MADE UP! This is not actually in the Marvel canon, but I wanted to write this. Do hope you enjoy it.

1966\. New York City. 

A slight breeze shifted through the air; the booming sounds of construction machines rebuilding demolished ruins of structures echoed through every crevice of the city. Authorities rushed around Manhattan, offering aid to citizens still trapped or injured in the wreckage. Only seven days had passed since A.I.M. had made their attempts to destroy everything - and that meant everything. They had totally and truly used a beacon to attract a massive, planet-eating cosmic entity to Earth. Death and destruction stained the city with indelible repercussions. Even after the week of clean-up, emergency services still swarmed the city brandishing fresh body bags for each corpse that could be found nestled under piles of rocks, building wreckage, or even the occasional crib. New York City had seen quite a bit since its conception, but no tragedy quite compared to one as ghastly as this. Cheeks hot with tears and tired, heavy eyes were the norm these past few days. 

The unnamed reaction team that had managed to shut down the scientific research group’s sinister plans had all but a name - and now, the city, or perhaps just the US government in general, wanted to know all about them. Their vitals. Their identities. Their backgrounds. The question was; did the response team scrapped together by S.H.I.E.L.D. want to disclose all of that information? It was unrevealed, but given the current state of almost everyone in America, it certainly wouldn’t remain that way for long. 

Mild prattle was audible surrounding the steps to the White House. A massive audience had crowded around the scene; reporters chattered into microphones facing an excessive amount of bulky cameras and flashy lights as various men and women shined, smoothed, and adjusted the newscasters. A young woman with flowing black hair blended with the group surrounding a podium at the entrance to the White House - her green eyes stayed attentive and alert, darting around and making notes. 

“We’re here today reporting on one of the most exciting events of the century,” a young blonde reporter announced into her microphone, a bright smile plastered on her face. “A representative of the government security and espionage agency known as S.H.I.E.L.D. will be here today to make a speech on our new branch of government-sanctioned super-soldiers -- oh, here he comes now!” she excitedly squealed, ducking out of the camera’s way before it focused in on an African-American man with an eyepatch and a simple black tuxedo. The crowd quickly quieted down, their attention now directed to the man at the podium. He cleared his throat, scanning the crowd before exhaling deeply and beginning. 

“Advanced Idea Mechanics,” the man announced as his starting point, his voice clear and firm. It flowed like a river - it had been rehearsed. The black-haired woman made it a mental note, narrowing her green eyes into small slits. A “A week ago, they destroyed Earth. Or, to be more precise, they would have.” Murmurs echoed through the crowd like a ripple - the A.I.M. debacle had been a close call, but what did it have to do with anything? “They would have destroyed the world,” he continued, “if it hadn’t been for our super-soldiers. Our heroes.” He cleared his throat again, staring blankly down at the podium. 

“Once, an incredible man had an incredible idea. You all probably know him as Captain America, war hero.”

Click. An image flashed on the projector behind the announcer of the response team battling the enormous cosmic villain - the heroes known as Captain America, Clea Strange, Ms. Marvel, Thor, and Namor. Blasting, casting, swinging punches. The audio barely crackled through, but it was a formidable sight. The world had never seen threats like these. So unfamiliar… Like angels of war. Heralds of what was to come. 

“He was a man with the power to do amazing things.”

Another projection. Captain America combating Nazis at the height of the World War, his iconic shield slung over his arm with a leather strap. 

“He had an idea to assemble a group of remarkable people. To avenge Earth; to avenge us. To protect and heal. To spread hope.”

The next image. Captain America and his response team making a speech for the people of New York after defeating Galactus and warding him off from Earth. 

“And when another group of people wanted to ruin that idea… He was the one who made sure they didn’t. He brought us our heroes. And he kept the idea alive.”

...

“Ladies and gentlemen… I hope you like your new Avengers.”

Cameras flashed wildly and questions were fired like bullets at Nick Fury as he casually exited the podium. His steps were firm and direct as he walked towards his car; reporters shoved microphones in his face and babbled their questions at an inhuman speed, and he all but answered them. Brushing off attempted inquiry and shoving away recorders, he continued his casual walk towards his car. Unsuspecting. Distracted by their flashy lights and their ridiculous blabber. Take the chance - take the shot while she can.

Jessica Drew whipped the gun out of the inside of her coat and ignored anything that could have caused hesitation as she fired the bullet directly into the center of Nick Fury’s skull. 

“Get him to the hospital!”

“Medic?! Anyone?!?”

And the sounds, the noise, the pain all faded to black… And blankness. 

 

A Marvel Comics Fanfiction 

 

Written by S.L. Biltonen 

 

|| Avengers: Unite ||

 

Present day Brooklyn.

“You - you can’t just kick me out,” the woman snapped at the landlord, who simply continued throwing her belongings into large garbage bags and tossing them out the window. They landed on the pavement next the a woman in a green coat walking her poodle, who squealed and ran off, her high heels clicking on the concrete. “Princess, you had yer chance ta pay yer dues and ya blew it,” the landlord sneered in response, packing her items into the bags. “I - HEY!” the woman yelled, slapping the brute’s hand as he reached for another handful of clothing to pack in the bag. “Listen. To. ME. You canNOT do this. I’ve paid my rent every month ON TIME for the PAST. SIX. YEARS. And now you’re just gonna kick my ass out on the sidewalk? I don’t buy that. There has to be something I can do to extend my time, just this once.” The landlord paused, before a corner of his mouth tilted up and stared her straight in the eye. “Yer supermodel friend. Mary Jane What’s-er-name. Her number… And a promised date.” The woman’s piercing brown eyes narrowed. “You insecure, low-life, piece of SHI-”

30 seconds later.

“--An’ you better stay outta this buildin’, sister!” the man’s booming voice roared as the woman was shoved out the door, landing on the mound of trash bags containing her items. “Monica Rambeau, yer a pain in the ass.” And he walked away, grumbling and mumbling probably highly offensive and politically incorrect slurs under his breath as his footsteps trembled the poorly-built apartment complex. 

“... Super,” Monica groaned, holding her face in her hands as she stood up, brushed off her lap, started picking up the trash bags, and hauled them into the back of her old truck just feet away from the apartment complex. So… In one day, she’d singlehandedly lost her house, gotten probably loads of her stuff damaged from being thrown out the window, and pissed off one of the biggest landowners in Brooklyn. What was her plan now? It wasn’t like she’d had a backup place to crash in case something like this happened. Unlike her friend MJ, she wasn’t rich - or married to a Stark Industries scientist like Ben Reilly. 

That was it!

MJ! Surely she’d at least have a couch for Monica, even though she was a biiiit reluctant to bother her for space. She could just fib that the building was under construction until she found a new place to set up shop. As long as MJ stayed out of Brooklyn (and chances were that her spoiled butt wouldn’t leave Manhattan for anything below a pair of designer heels), Monica was in the clear. Shouldn’t be too hard, should it? Anyways, she should probably get all her crap loaded up and drive over there, because in a few minutes, the police were going to arrest her for having her trash bags sprawled all over the sidewalk. She hauled the rest of her luggage into the trunk of the truck, opened the door, sat down, clicked in her seatbelt, turned the keys in the ignition, and… 

“It’s fucking OUT OF GAS?! Are you KIDDING ME?!?!” Monica screeched, slamming her forehead onto the steering wheel and groaning in utter frustration. She mumbled an incessant rotation of inappropriate curses under her breath as she unbuckled her seatbelt, got out of the car, and started pushing the heavy vehicle. It wasn’t like she didn’t know her way around a gym, but even this was ridiculous. She wasn’t know especially for bad luck; nevertheless, it felt like this had gone to far in only the span of about half an hour. "Man, I hate this car," Monica murmured, backing away from the automobile, her forehead drenched in sweat. "Let's just do this the easy way..." The woman fished her phone out of one of the garbage bags, tapping in the password and selecting the phone app. "MJ? Can you come pick me up? I'm just outside my apartment... Yeah, it's a long story." 

Mary Jane had better have coffee with extra sugar and cream at her apartment, or Monica was going to punch somebody.


	2. A Royal Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medusa is having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next character being introduced! Chapters will come out at least every week, so expect frequent updates.

Medusa was not having the finest of days. 

Not having the finest of weeks was a more appropriate term, really. What with her having to fill in for Blackagar at the United Nations meetings that had been going on for seven whole days, Crystal having run off again with Pietro and those RIDICULOUS mutants just days ago, and Lockjaw being especially cranky, she wasn't in the mood for... Well, anyone. The incessant blabber of these irritatingly ordinary humans with superiority complexes wasn't improving her attitude, either. Still, she had nothing more to do but drink her awful, bitter coffee and be glad that her hair scared off anyone daring to sit by her. Medusalith Amaquelin, queen of the Inhumans, cooped up in this weak human structure. How had she come so low? She was getting soft, that was it. Note to self - get anger out by crushing something with hair later. 

Speaking of hair, her sentient red locks were getting increasingly irritable by the second. Actually, they did that a lot, especially when she was crammed into a meeting with other authorities who tried to speak over her like they were better than her. That did seem to be a common trait for human men, anyways; they thought they were better than everyone. It was the case with Reed Richards, it was the case with Steve Rogers, and now it was the case with every single man here. What she wouldn't give to go back to Attilan and spend a few days locked in the Royal Spa, free to cleanse herself of the godawful stench coming from the vents in this place. That was it. She couldn't stay here. She was going to --

"Q-Queen Medusa?" a stuttering voice next to her crowed. "A refill f-for your c-coffee?" The human beverage tasted horrible, but Medusa didn't want to be rude to the service-man. "Yes. I will have more," the Inhuman queen responded curtly, a lock of her red curls extending the empty mug. His hands shaking, the human poured more of the steaming brown liquid into the stained cup. He also spilled almost half the pot in himself from his irritating human shaking-hands, but Medusa neglected to acknowledge this. "Thank you," she stated dismissively, and the coffee man scurried off like a mouse from a cat. Pathetically predictable. Taking another sip of the sour drink, Medusa could only do one thing now - wait for this meeting to end and never leave Attilan for anything again. That was, of course, until the next meeting came. They might as well just call it an organized argument, because that was all Medusa ever saw coming from these people. Then again, the humans did so like to conceal their more malevolent intentions from people. As was evident by Hydra, A.I.M., the Hellfire Club, the countless other villains swarming the city... Instead of babbling about money, why didn't these humans just find ways to apprehend criminals? It was just foolish. If she was in charge of everything, she could do this better. That she already knew. She could restore peace, order, and bring down crime. Then no superheroes would ever have to abandon their families or children or lives to stop bank robbers. Even if superheroes had generally disappeared every since the death of the famed Nick Fury, deceased Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Of course, it was New York City - there were sprinklings of a few posers in spandex every now and then to combat simple thugs - but other than that, the rate of government-registered superheroes had plateaued. 

|| 2 hours later. ||

Her scarlet tangles drooping in a defeated manner, Medusa marched out of the building, noticeably not a part of the crowd in black suits shuffling toward the door in a ridiculous shrinking-violet fashion. Did every human have to be so coy? It was insanity, that was what it was. Oh, well. Now she was free to go back to Attilan and relax, just how she liked. 

The redheaded royal strutted over to her royal Attilan air ship, much to the shock of the gaggle of humans. She opened the entrance to the high-tech flight vehicle, sauntering up the entrance ramp and closing the large panel door, the ramp folding up with it. "Ridiculous," Medusa scoffed quietly, slamming down the launch button and settling into the pilot's seat. Gripping the steering wheel, the large ship began to ascend into flight as it zipped away, leaving behind a cloud of sand where the ship had been on the ground.

"Set the ship to autopilot, to New Attilan," Medusa stated into the voice box. "Command registered. Autopilot commencing. Location, New Attilan," the robotic voice of the ship's A.I. blankly crackled out. She stood up from the seat, gingerly brushing off her wrinkled purple skirt. Now, she could just relax in the back until she reached her home nation. New Attilan could be rather traditional, at least in its way of authoritative power, but from what she could tell so far it was much more functional than these human societies. All these weak, scrawny men in identical suits blathering on about votes and rigged elections and communists? Their feeble attempts to instill a sense of authority about them were woeful. Decrepit politicians were on Medusa's mental list of things and people to avoid, especially after today's disaster. She failed to notice little more from these anemic legislators other than the fact that they all spit when they talk. It happens when you have wooden dentures. The last time she had seen people so old, they had been in a coffin. Had she known what she was in for, she would've surrendered her kingdom for a day alone in Attilan with a good book. Metaphorical, obviously, but all the same to her anyways. Human nations might lack the order the New Attilan had in abundance, but it would cause chaos for the Attilan representative not to attend every single one of these deplorable meetings. Most of them seemed beyond useless, but the dusty old rules they had were not flexible in any sort of way. Particularly when it came to attendance. 

Then again, human rules had never been flexible. Especially when it came to outsiders.

When Medusa first met the humans, they had been unwilling to accept her in their chaotic society. They feared her for her physical appearance. Silly weaklings; scared of some hair. Hair sharper than steel, but hair nevertheless. Earth's heroes were not an improvement, either. The Fantastic Four had tried to kill one of her acquaintances and had lured innocent Crystal into their tangled web of sinister secrets. Perhaps she had not been well acquainted with the humans as she was now, but she had known what they did. They had Sentinels for the mutants, secret agencies for the Skrulls, and government-sponsored poster heroes for anyone who dared to step outside the lines of their morbid regulations. Human society was not a thing she enjoyed, and she could certainly care less for it. Who would bother to coddle these monsters, fascists and pigs and oppressors? Everyone had seen who they were, what they did, but yet they ignored it all the same. The Holocaust, slavery, war, murder, theft, death threats. Medusa knew that she could not give a second thought to these blood-leeching dictators, and if they were smart, all the other outsider races would join her. Earth rightfully belonged to the evolution of humans. While cavemen huddled in rock caves mastering fire and wind and stone, the Inhumans were eons above them. They mastered space and technology and life, sometimes even death. Humans were not worth saving; not to a woman like Medusa. 

In spite of her distaste, she still noticed when a meteor charged with energy came soaring straight for New York City. Brooklyn, specifically. 

"Is that...?" 

Yes. Charged with energy from Kree technology. Said to revive the deceased Captain Mar-Vell. 

The Divine Bringing.


	3. Stardust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary Jane Watson to the rescue!

The second MJ received Monica's call, her foot was on the gas pedal and she was out of the apartment parking lot, on the road. 

It was just what best friends did for each other, anyways. Even best friends who hadn't really spoken to each other in a couple weeks. It wasn't like they were trying to avoid each other; just, you know, work got in the way sometimes. Especially if you had some hot-shot big-brain profession like MJ. Not that she didn't love being an engineer and scientist for Stark Industries. Working for Tony Stark, billionaire playboy, was pretty much a dream come true. If you'd told five-year-old Mary Jane, with her little plastic scientist kit, that she was going to become one of the smartest engineers in the country, she probably would've just died of excitement right there on the spot. Though she wasn't exactly that into science back then. Like every other female toddler in her grade, for her dream job project, she had done movie star/princess/mermaid. Well, except for Monica. Monica had been special. She'd never wanted to be a big-shot celebrity, or headline the magazines. She wanted to be a teacher. 

Back then, yeah, of course it was strange. For someone of such a young age to be so mature and determined? Practically unheard of! But like with every other little girl who said she wanted to be a mermaid fairy princess movie star, the teachers had patted her head and told her that if she tried hard and followed her dreams, she could be anything she wanted to be. Monica was different; but nobody wanted to acknowledge it. They didn't want different. They wanted quiet little sheep-children who dreamed of being race car drivers and artists and supermodels to stuff into the meat-grinder process of fast food chain working. Feeding the masses was apparently superior in importance to doing anything mildly useful for society. Young as they may be, if you were smart enough, you could figure out the pattern. Cramming unsuspecting infants into a legacy filled with despair, depression, and a whole lot of taxes. Luckily, MJ and Monica were much harder to get to stand in line; and in the end, it had payed off. Here they were, successful and happy! Dream jobs and all that. Chasing the golden dream, just like every other New Yorker. MJ had always wanted that life for her two kids, Charlotte and Peter, particularly why she had chosen the best private school on the market. She had the money for it; and the motivation for it, too. 

Even if life wasn’t always exactly what they wanted it to be (hence MJ riding halfway across the city to pick up Monica for undisclosed reasons), it was still pretty good. The redhead could only hope that Monica wasn’t in trouble or anything, because her voice had sounded anxious over the call. Oh, well - MJ was probably overthinking it. Her best friend wouldn’t make her drive 12 miles across New York City for something stupid, but it wasn’t going to be anything big and crazy. She was a teacher, for God’s sake. What, was one of her students going to burn down her apartment or something? Crazy occurrences were not of popularity in NYC ever since the famed Nick Fury was assassinated, and the biggest thing that had ever happened to either of them was one of those godawful traffic jams. Unless you counted stuff that happened at Mary Jane's job, but that list went on so long it would take a day to go over all of it. So what if life wasn't some comic book spectacle? All either of them wanted was to be satisfied, and that was enough. Being normal was fine. Well, maybe it could get a... Little boring sometimes, but Mary Jane had made it to adulthood and marriage! She'd crossed the finish line! She had an easy life. Easier than most, anyways, but nevertheless easy. MJ didn't need her life to be spectacularly thrilling. As a kid, she had dreamt big, and she had it alllll figured out in life. She liked life just the way it was... So very, very normal. Actually, annoyingly normal at times, but she didn't need anyone else knowing that. Telling her friends and her husband that she was satisfied, but only just satisfied? Not a chance. She didn't need to hurt anyone's feelings or relationships. People liked her. She was pretty. She had a great husband. She had sweet kids. She had good friends. What could she be missing? Excitement came from her job, even if she followed a routine and a schedule. And, okay, her male coworkers were kind of patronizing. Who cared? She was clearly overthinking her life. It happens, Mary Jane. You think to hard in the car about how much you hate your life and then you start to believe it. It happens, right? And anything bigger than the occasional groundbreaking scientific discovery was probably illegal. Not that being superhuman was explicitly illegal, but people certainly didn't take well to it. It had taken the Inhumans years just to have a seat in the United Nations Council, and it was pretty visible; people were scared of them. MJ had never had anything against superhumans or people like that, but everyone else always seemed to take a rather severe disliking to them. Probably because of that whole "humans hate what they fear" shtick, but still, at least not everyone was like that. She'd never actually personally met one, but it wasn't like she could just bump into a mutant at the Espresso Bean or meet an alien at the club. It was their right to hide... But sometimes, MJ thought that life might be more exciting if they didn't. 

No, no, no, you're going back where you started. None of that. Focus on Monica, remember? She was probably getting tired of waiting for MJ. The readers were also probably tired of the author having written an entire inner monologue for her, but you gotta fill the blank spaces somehow. 

Only a fourty-five minute drive... How much longer was left? Oh, geez, still twenty-three minutes left in this car on this horrible highway bridge that smelled like Charlotte's melted jellybeans. Could it get any worse? "Don't jinx it," MJ mumbled to herself, eyeing the gas monitor. She'd still have enough to finish the ride and back, and... 

In the blink of an eye, MJ found her car flying through the air, a blast of blue energy rippling through the city. It wasn't like anything she had ever seen. Was it an alien invasion? Oh, God, she didn't want to get kidnapped and experimented on! And she didn't want to die! Not like this. What about Ben and Charlotte and Peter? Were they okay? Was she going to be okay? Actually, scratch that. Her car toppled off the bridge into the murky water of the river below, the vehicle slowly submerging into the dark water. She was going to die! She was going to drown and suffocate, and she'd never be able to tell her husband and her kids one last time that she loved them... The cloudy river water started to creep up her legs as she frantically unbuckled her seatbelt. Dozens of other cars splashed into the river as well, sinking into the dirty abyss. Screaming, crying, sobbing; this must be happening all over the city. What was it? Everyone was going to die, and she was going to die...

She didn't want to die! "Open!!" she screamed at the car door, tugging the door handle back and forth in a panic. No luck - it must be jammed, and the water was still slowly rising; up to her thighs at this point. "NNAAGH!!" she yelled in a fit of rage, punching the window as hard as she could. No luck. Again. And again. And again. In her fury, she almost did not notice as a tiny, blue Black Widow spider that had been crawling in her trunk dropped onto her back. It dug its teeth into her skin, venom irradiated from the alien energy entered her bloodstream. "Ow--! What the heck?!" she snapped. Suddenly, vigor surged through her body, her senses suddenly feeling like they were being magnified to the extreme. "Hhnh!" she grunted, slamming her fist into the slightly-cracked car window again. She frantically swam up to the surface, her feet paddling as hard as they could; to now avail. Too far at the bottom. No. Keep. Going. Splash, paddling, flailing arm movements. She couldn't make it. She was going to die. Too...

In a last-minute panic, a stringy white substance shot out of her fingertips, forming a small air mask around her mouth and nose as her vision blurred and she felt her senses fade into nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidenote - if you didn't catch the reference, Mary Jane's kids are named after Charlotte Witter and Peter Parker (both Spider-folk). Next chapter - Kree stuff!


	4. Stardust, P2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious space object's come to Earth; courtesy of the Kree empire. It leaves a path of distruction and disaster wherever it goes...
> 
> And New York City is right in its path.

This day was just getting ridiculously bad.

It hadn’t really started out at its best anyways. When Monica had awoken, she had immediately noticed that the people above her apartment smelled strongly like cheese. And the stack of ungraded tests on her kitchen table hadn’t all magically been marked up yet. And she spilled her morning brew of coffee on her favorite sweater… Not to mention losing her home, damaging loads of her belongings, forcing her best friend to take time out of her busy schedule to drive across the city, and pissing off her former landlord. But a stupid meteor landing barely a few feet away from Monica and pretty much causing a giant earthquake? Well, that was just the moldy, rotten, overripe cherry on top. It had plummeted straight from the cloudy evening sunset; cries from the people echoing in her ear, like “look out!” Or “what is that thing?!” She had ignored it, rolling her eyes, and returned to focusing on her baggage. She didn't know it would have been such a big mistake yet, but hey, she could justify her reasoning. This was New York City - stuff like this happened all the time. Not a big deal. Probably just some rando drone that crashed into an elevator. Either that or only the junkies sitting on the side of the street were hallucinating. People getting worked up over nothing for no good reason. She directed all her focus towards rummaging through her garbage bags with intense care, making sure that none of her items had sustained any damage. Her hand fishing around, she dug up her childhood star ornament, from her first Christmas... With a large crack running through the middle of the golden object. "Oh, man..." she groaned, tracing the impairment. It felt like just everything was going wrong today. She just WISHED she could do something to fix it all. But no; she was useless. Only human, right? And at least she wasn't a junkie sitting on the side of the street hallucinating about weird space ships or whatever coming from the sky. 

It was only when the forgotten meteor crashed into the ground that she bothered to pay any attention to it. It had been glowing bright blue - something that meant what, she didn’t know. It had created some sort of electromagnetic energy wave throughout the city; which she hadn’t known, but that only added to the problem. Monica had been the closest person to that big hunk of space rock, so that didn’t make it any better - to be more precise, it probably made it worse. Being the closest to that dumb comet meant that she got hit with the tremors the strongest. She felt them almost instantly; the ground rippling beneath her, a glimmering azure light flashing directly into her eyes. She had fallen over immediately, and she could just barely make out cars and buildings toppling over nearby. If she rewinded time, she could’ve probably seen the exact moment her past self decided that this might be quite a bit worse that her upstairs neighbors who smelled like cheese. 

All she could remember after that was darkness, and the screams of people around her. Currently, she was mostly just being trapped under rubble, barely awake - or was it barely alive? She couldn’t exactly decide. Her best guess was both, considering the fact that her breathing was weird. Wheezy and broken. 

Blinking multiple times, she could hardly see anything; must be pretty disoriented. She must’ve blacked out, only for a few minutes or so, because everything was relatively the same. Her lower body buried under hunks of destroyed structures, glass from broken windows slicing her skin every time she tried to squirm in her concrete prison. Her hearing was just as impaired as well - everything sounded like it was underwater. Murky and dark. Was that the right way to describe it? Her hearing sounded very blurry, if that even made sense. It kind of did. To her. Unlike most of what was happening around her. So much screaming. So much pain. She could hear people crying, shouting for some sort of aid…

 

“Please! Please help, my baby’s down here!!”

“Oh, God, p-please -- I can’t feel my leg --” 

“Where’s my mommy?! Please, mommy, where are you?” 

"Please... *sob*... Please help me, I don't want to die..." 

"God, I pray to my Lord and Saviour... Please don't let me die like this...!" 

 

Various screams along the same lines of these pleads rang in her ears like some sort of a beckoning alarm. Somebody needed to make it stop, it was too much… She couldn’t do anything to help these people, but they needed it so much. She was just here. Useless. Under a pile of rubble. Weak, and human. Why was this happening? This didn’t make sense. Nothing like this had ever happened, not since 1966. And that was years ago. This was the StarkPhones and freaky Supernatural fangirls and Starbucks era. This wasn’t supposed to be the freaky space rock era. Was she going to die? And for that case, why was aforementioned freaky space rock glowing blue? She wasn’t much of a scientist, but it looked like some kind of energy. 

Good energy or bad energy? She should take a closer look, but her legs were still trapped under the hunks of rubble. At least most of the buildings weren’t damaged. ‘Most’ not including the stupid wreckage she was being smothered with. God, could anything any worse happen! Dying slowly while her legs were being crushed under a bunch of stupid rocks. Well, maybe not as bad as drowning or being burned... But she would've at least asked for dying in her sleep. Or of old age. She was, what, late twenties? Nobody was supposed to die that young unless it was the 1800s. And it was SO not the 1800s. She didn't want to be another name flashing on the TV screen! This couldn't be happening. Something else; anything else. Surging with sudden vigor, she began squirming under the rocks, ignoring the shards of glass cutting away at her legs. "Rrgh!!" she yelled, thrashing wildly. "Get! Off! Of! Me!" Monica screamed, her back arching in a sharp burst of pain. She could feel anger building; she wasn't going to die! Not like this!! She still had her life left, and she was not getting crushed by a bunch of rocks! So furious, it was like her anger was bubbling up inside of her - her hands were practically tingling with anger. Wait, what? Or was that... She lifted up her hand to stare at it in awe; it was glowing a bright blue, like the rock! So it was energy? But was it the same kind? She didn't know what to do! God, this was just getting insane!! Outstretching her hand in a panic, she inadvertently blasted away the stone trapping her lower body, scrambling away in a panic. Her legs were still trembling, probably the result of being crushed under a few tons of building. But oh my God!! Did she have superpowers now?! What was happening? This was crazy!! Too crazy! She was just a teacher, and she wanted to leave! She couldn't stay here!! The police were gonna get her, and then scientists were gonna tear her open like a frog in science class, and they were gonna make weird robot clones of her and blow up North Korea or something!! She needed to go, or run, or she needed to do something... But what was she supposed to do? Was she a superhero? But people were still screaming in her ear, and they were dying and someone needed to help! And it was TOO LOUD AND HER THOUGHTS WERE RINGING IN HER EARS AND THEY WERE SCREAMING AND PEOPLE WERE SCREAMING AND THEY WERE YELLING HELPMEHELPMEHELPME BUT MONICA CAN'T HELP BECAUSE SHE Well, she is only human. Oh my God It's too much Somebody please help I'm going to die here No Monica, get up MonicaMonicaMonica get up and stop sitting there and JUST MOVE and get up and the noise is T o o m u c h Helicopter blades were whirring, and cars were honking and it needed to 

"S T O P !!!" Monica screamed, falling to her knees. Blue energy engulfed her body, light shooting out of her eyes. Why was this happening? Why her? She didn't want this. A strange, military-like suit began forming around her - the molecules of her clothing shifted, morphing into a body armour crafted of unknown material. Red and blue began spawning around her body, engulfing her frame, with a yellow star-like symbol planting itself on her chest. 

"...What is happening?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your own reference; Monica Rambeau's Captain Marvel costume. If you're going to be viewing the image, the costume would probably be the second costume variant (with the traditional colors). Not my drawing, so picture creds to the correct artist. 
> 
> http://i.imgur.com/rK0ra0K.jpg


	5. Stardust P3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monica Rambeau is now wearing a uniform with a star plastered on the front. It would be a lot more exciting if she knew what it meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off my long, long hiatus. Sorry about that. This chapter may be a little short, but it's something.

When Monica was five years old, a little boy on the playground had kicked her in the knees.

His stupid name was Peter, and he wouldn't stop screaming about how she had ruined his sandcastle. In all fairness, she had; but she hadn't been trying to anyways, but it didn't matter what she had meant because she had tripped and fallen face-first into the sandbox. So Peter kicked her in both her knees and when she had looked down at them, ugly blackened bruises were starting to intensify on her delicate skin. The second kick sent her spinning downwards in a weird spinning motion, and when she heard a snap, that's when she started screaming and crying.

 

Monica had apologized to him (she told him she was sorry, so could he stop being a baby, but that still counted) and he had apologized to her. Still, it didn't feel like anyone cared. She had heard her mother screaming at her principal with the shiny bald head for being so prejudiced, and he just told her that Peter's dad was funding the baseball club and called her father a very mean word when he got mad at Timmy's parenta, and then her parents had dragged her out of Eureka Springs Elementary School. A few days later, they moved to Harlem, and Monica grew there. The others kids; well, they understood her. People in her old town had an angry look that just screamed that she didn't belong here. The people here still laughed at her when she said she wanted to be a teacher, but at least they didn't bully her about her hair or her skin. She thought her skin looked fine, but she quickly forgot about it. 

Monica grew. She got her degree and became a teacher, and then a university staff member, and then a Harlem General University Professor on Theoretical Physics. She'd had a great life, no matter how often MJ nagged her about going on a date with her great friend from work, Sam. She had expected to grow and die old, and with her friends in a nice room in her sleep - just how she liked it. She had never cried with that same overwhelming fear as she had when Peter struck. 

Never once had she suspected that she might one day be sitting in the middle of the street with a giant eight-point star emblazoned in the center of her chest, smoking as the newly-formed symbol was just... There now. 

"What the hell?" 

Actually, maybe that wasn't the words she wanted to use to describe this. It was almost definitely too big to be personified in a string of obscenities. Still, she could try.

"#!$%!! $#*!#!!" she cursed, burying her head in her lap. A wild storm of new thoughts bubbled in her head like an overflowing pot; she desperately struggle to even comprehend what this meant. She was almost 100% certain she wasn't dreaming - still, it wouldn't hurt. She gave a quick pinch to her arm. It drew pain, so it clearly wasn't her crazy nightmare. 

She needed to get out here. Right now. She had to run or hide before someone kidnapped her for science and experiments or to murder her because they thought she was a mutant or some utter crap. She couldn't escape her fate on foot, surely; she wasn't that fast. She needed something MORE - a speed as fast as light. So fast nobody would see her. She was uncertain about a lot of stuff going on right now, but she knew she wanted to get out of here. It didn't help that people had begun to fully stir and people continued gaping at the woman. 

Obviously, it struck her attention when her feet began levitating off the ground. "What the hell?" she gasped. She made a panicked swing to grab onto something, but her hand passed around the intended object and reformed, mimicking some fashion of nanotech. But her body wasn't nanotech; that much she could tell. Her hands were now some sort of blue, smoky energy - was this mutation a side effect of the radiation? Who had done this to her? Who even put that stupid radioactive meteorite there in the first place? She was fairly certain it had struck the Earth on purpose anyways.

The radiation... No! That was it! She recognized her current form from the meteor. The same blue energy rays emanating from it; her body's genetics had somehow been self-manipulated to reconstruct themselves a light-speed to resemble the meteor's energy waves. This... This was some kind of scientific breakthrough.

And she could float like this, apparently, so that was rather useful. 

Fly. She had to fly away. But where? To whom? The suit's symbol, crafted into her combat suit, seemed so familiar, like it was on the tip of her tongue. It was alien, it gave her powers... Come on, where had she seen this before?

She gave the star a cautious stroke, feeling the rigid design carved into the unfamiliar metal. She could have sworn she recognized it. Come on... Why couldn't she remember it? Well, because on the anniversary of Nick Fury's assasination, she had been forced by the school board to show her students some stupid documentary about the Avengers. Those bastards had left them to rot when they got too good for them; that stupid band of tights. C'mon, Monica, focus -- but that stupid Clea Strange. Acting like she was ever going to give normal humans the time of day with her facist band. And Ms. Marvel, she worse that dumb leotard with the scarf for no reason and that stupid star--

MARVEL. STAR.

Her blue energy body traveled across the city faster than the mortal eye could register. Clea still lingered around Avengers Tower sometimes since she had been given it after the others left - she could lead her to Ms. Marvel.

She overestimated her landing, crashing into the balcony like a meteor, small cracks of rubble. She shook cement dust out of her kinky curls and, as she noticed, a woman in a magenta robe walk out of the shadows of the tower. Was it Clea? She had no time to ask. She looked up at the woman with pleading eyes, clutching the luminous star on her suit chest.

"Help me."


	6. A Little Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clea Strange wasn't always alone. She was an Avenger. It was her duty to help the world.
> 
> Now, someone else needs her help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more about Clea.

[ 1966 ] 

"Clea. Clea. Get up."

A familiar voice is mumbling in her ear, and their voice is dripping with urgency. She can't place the tone, but she knows that they're there. It is a female voice - or at least, she thinks so. It goes through her ear as a murky, blurry sound, like she's underwater. But she's not. 

She is laying on the ground with blood leaking out of a hole in her stomach. Lucky her. 

"Clea! Please! It's Carol! You gotta go, we gotta get up--!" 

Okay. It's Carol. So it was a woman. 

"Clea! Up!" 

If Carol could stop screaming in her ear, that would be fantastic. She would have thought Carol would've figured out the morning after they slept together that Clea doesn't like getting up early. 

"CLEA!" 

Carol sounds mad. Mad like Stephen when she told him she was cheating on him. Wait. Was it Stephen? Why did he sound like a girl? Why did he change his name to Carol? Was Stephen here? 

"...Another half-hour... Stephen... Darling. You know I hate getting... up before 7." 

"Did you just f%!$ing call me Stephen?" 

Whoops. Maybe it really is Carol. 

"Oh. Carol." 

The blonde woman lifts Clea's arm around her neck so that she can support her limp, wounded body and hobbles her over behind a convenient pile of rubble, nervously sitting her down. "Clea, you need to do that banishing spell -- please --" 

"What? Why?"

"Galactus is trying to eat us." 

"Oh. Right." 

The sorceress gingerly stands up, clutching the side of her blood-stained uniform. She hurriedly mumbles out a pain-suppressing incantation and stumbles away from Carol, the stinging sharpness in her side fading away like it was all a dream. 

"Clea... You still don't have enough power for the spell." 

The witch pauses. Carol is right. She may be out of this game for good. 

"I - I had something I could use to help, but --" 

"What?" Carol blurts. She gapes at her, grabbing her shoulders. "You have to use it. Please." 

Her expression is pleading and desperate; why wouldn't it be? She's about to die. They all are. So why would she hesitate? 

Because she doesn't know what she's doing. Because using it could be potentially dangerous. Could she corrupt herself with that power? She contemplates if she is ready to sacrifice her humanity to save the Earth for a split second. 

She thinks of Stephen. She thinks of Carol. She thinks of Namor and Steve and Thor. She thinks of eating ice cream for her fifth birthday and Stephen bending over to propose to her after years of scattered flirting and soaring in the starlight, looking down at New York City, her real home on Earth, where everyone she has every loved exists. 

She makes her choice. 

"Stay here," she mutters, leaving behind a magenta trail of energy as she begins to levitate through the air, speeding directly towards the planet-eater. She stops mid-flight in front of him, shooting magickal constructs of sparkly energy to gain his attention. "Galactus!" 

"Who dares to interrupt the feeding of the Savior?!" the woman next to him rumbles, a fiery aura materializing around her.

Clea thinks her red suit with the bird on it looks stupid. Nobody likes redheads anyways. 

"I am Clea Strange. Tell your Savior to leave this realm and I will bring you no harm, Herald," she commands, purple magick emanating from her fingertips. The redhead scoffs, flames lapping at her fingertips. "You presume to tell me what to do?" she chuckles, a sinister grin plastered across her face. Clea would love to laugh at the Herald's excessively poetic speech patterns, but judging from what the others tell her, that might be a tad hypocritical. 

"Well, l wouldn't be here talking to you if I didn't, luv," Clea snorts, rolling her eyes dramatically. The woman grits her teeth, balling her fists. In a single mad grab, she brandishes her fist of flames, knocking Clea back. 

"Huggh!" the sorceress grunts, soaring back and smashing into a large array of glass pane windows. It would be a lot better if New York did not have so many glass buildings. Shaking, she recuperates, ignoring the sharp ringing sound blaring in her ears. Clenching her jaw, she whispers a spell under her breath. A construct of magickal energy forms into a Falchion blade. She grips the handle and charges forward, plunging the energy sword into the Herald's stomach. She lets out a ghastly shriek, clawing her opponent. 

"Just die already!" Clea howls, drawing back the sword. Its blade is coated in a smear of golden shimmery blood, but such is the biology of cosmic entities. The Phoenix woman clutches her wound, and while she is distracted, the mage makes her move. 

Lunging forward, Clea makes a slash across the woman's face, drawing more blood. Weaker.

She strikes the sword across the woman's thigh, bringing it through her kneecap. More golden blood drips as her lower calf falls off in a swift chop, plummeting to the ground below. Weaker now. 

A slash across the cheek.

Into her chest.

Through her left thigh. 

A fresh coat of golden fluid is smeared across the construct, Galactus drawing more Lifeforce from civilians as the other heroes hold him off. 

"Any day now, Clea..."

She goes for the neck, but the Phoenix detects pattern. She wraps her clawed hand around Clea's neck, her thumb digging into her flesh. 

"Stand down, little witch," she snarls, tightening her grip tortuously slow. Her voice is dripping with intention, malice flashing in her eyes. The magician wrestles in her hold, gasping desperately for air which is slowly vanishing. She's going to die, and Galactus is eating her HOME. What if Stephen dies? Who will she be married to then? She can't possibly know, which only worsens her current ordeal. Right now, she would love nothing more than to go home to her daughter and make them both a large pot of tea and honey. 

The Phoenix tightens, and she croaks out worthless pleas. Perhaps she could make crumpets too.

"Are you prepared to die? To stand and face death, little witch?" the Phoenix murmurs in a wicked hiss. Her finger strokes the woman's white hair, an entirely haunting gesture. "Perhaps when I finish with you I'll pay Stephen and little Amanda a visit," she sneers, furrowing her eyebrows to convey just her intention. 

"What did you just say?" 

"I said--" 

Before the Phoenix can finish, she is knocked back by a stream of red energy. She lets out a shrill cry of pain and falls back, her bones letting out a sickening crack as she hits the ground which she spilt innocent blood on. Even the Phoenix is harmed by the attack, and she stays down, golden blood dripping onto hard cement. 

Clea floats toward Galactus. The worldeater simply stares at her. 

"Galactus! Last chance! Leave my world be!" she cries, gritting her teeth. The other Avengers gape at her courage/stupidity. 

"What is she doing?" Carol whispers in disbelief, salty tears streaming down soiled cheeks. Fright consumes her and her knees buckle, unable to tear her eyes away from Clea's imminent death. 

"LEAVE ME BE" 

Clea clenches her teeth, blowing a stray strand out of her face. "Have it your way, luv." 

Carol gapes. 

Thor yells.

Namor stares. 

Steve seems sad. 

Clea smiles. 

A pulsing streamline of red energy blasts through the sky, creating a ripple in the Earth. It kicks up a massive cloud of dust, sparking red electricity bolting through the sky. The Avengers on-ground shield themselves from the rubble quaking in their direction, shaking on the Earth's tremors. The streamline is surging with pure power; like that of being conducted by someone. It would be a lot better if they knew where it was coming from. 

Galactus, unmoving and resilient Galactus, seems shaken. Several bolts of the red energy strike him, and he bleeds. He actually bleeds. 

He doesn't make a move for a few moments, his indomitable form pausing as if to contemplate something.

It is a long, unnerving pause. 

The giant's lumbering form reaches out and picks up the limp form of the Phoenix. And slowly - painfully slowly - he retreats. The entity and the Herald walk away from the planet, rocketing into the inky night sky. The streamline disappears. 

Clea plummets to hard ground below, bouncing off a rock and rolling onto the dirt. Blood is spilling from her nose. "Lady Clea!" Thor exclaims, the other Avengers gathering around her as well. "The witch-woman is injured. Somebody fetch assistance," Namor snaps, studying her limp body. "Why don't you get some, smartass?" Carol sneers, pushing down heart palpitations. Her hands pump in a rhythym is a desperate attempt to revive her one dearest friend, her once lover, her once stranger. The others solemnly stare down at the two. Their doubt is overwhelming. "She is dead, Lady Marvel. She will be remembered in Valhalla," Thor quietly informs her, placing a hand on Carol's shoulder.

"Thor... Don't you ever... Shut up, you dumb blonde rack of ribs?" Clea spits out, coughing and croaking a storm. 

"Lady Clea lives!" the Asgardian joyously proclaimed, raising his hammer to the sky. The living civilians around them who had been in hiding slowly crept out of the shadows, a slow clap building. Cheers, hoots, grins. Acceptance and approval of this unknown force. A win for them all. 

Almost . 

"Clea... What was that?" Carol whispered, clutching her hand. 

Clea tightening her fist around the small red stone she had been brandishing, small bolts of red lightning thrumming through its core.

"Nothing at all, luv. Nothing." 

♡ 

The small red stone sat atop the pedestal, brilliantly shining. Its energy began pulsing wildly, making erratic noises and zaps. Clea cautiously approached it, analyzing its unusual behavior. 

A loud crash. A bolt was casted in the direction of the noise. Clea narrowed her eyes and stepped out of the main tower room, hanging back in the shadows to see what caused the disturbance. 

A young woman that appeared to to be made of unknown blue energy looked up at her with a pleading expression, clutching the Kree star on her combat suit's chest. 

"Help me." 

Clea's stomach clenched and she hung back in the cloaking shadows of the tower. 

"Why do you wear the star of the Kree?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise cameo from Phoenix! And yes, Clea absolutely has a British accent.


	7. Protocol

Cold.

Wet.

Cold water? What?

MJ let out a sputtering cough as she flailed for something to grab onto for an anchor, crawling onto a car submerged in the Hudson as she released some choked, gasping breaths. Something was covering her mouth; she tentatively reached for her lips, grabbing onto a damp, stringy whiteness and tugging it away from her face. 

"What the actual fuck?" she croaked, splaying herself over the floating debris in an attempt to stay afloat and out of the inky, swampy river. Everyone knew the Hudson was probably the grossest river in the history of rivers, and she had no overwhelming desire to go scuba diving with the soda cans buried at the bottom of the river. Oh well - she was going to have to wait for some kind of rescue boat, which was bound to come, and she needed to recompose. As in, check out the throbbing ugly blue bite marking her forearm. It was sending shocking bolts of pain through her blood, and it was probably cause for her migraine.

(It was either that or she had swallowed garbage Hudson water. Both were bad either way.) 

What the absolute hell was even happening at this point? It was an earthquake, and then she got bitten by a spider, and then she drank garbage water and she was going to die? 

She was going to move to Minnesota or something after this. Somewhere boring where she could be with middle-aged white guys who drank beer and ate cheese and thought every woman who didn't drop right to their knees to suck their dicks was a crazy radical feminist. 

Actually, she was starting to develop an appreciation for her boring life, so that was something. New York City had aliens and Inhumans and mutants and superheroes - she didn't need a part of that after all this. Especially not after she got some radioactive spider-bite, which sounded like something out of a stupid comic book. Either that or some rando girl's fanfiction. 

God, she was going out of wack. The Spider/Garbage Water Migraine had not been good for her. She was going to turn out sick, or dead, or something between the two. Actually, she probably already was - sick and dead in the middle of the smelly Hudson on a drowning car with six-pack soda rings clinging to her slacks and what she was sure was something gross tangled in her hair. And no access to a shower. Maybe this was more along the lines of Hell, in fact. May as well be, because she would murder a squirrel for a hot bath and seeing her family again. 

Oh, God; how could she be so selfish to forget about her family? She had forgotten her Charlotte and Peter and Ben? Idiot! They were probably sobbing their eyes out, waiting for her, and she was moping on a car which was taking her nowhere. 

She contemplated her options and made an executive decision as she plunged into the water, trying to ignore flakes of dirt and probably toilet paper stinging her eyes. Somehow, her senses weren't fogged up - in fact, she hadn't realized it until now, but everything felt like it was dialed up to the highest setting in her body. Every brush of water felt like a sharp wind, even the littlest of noises rung in her ears like wedding bells, she was far too aware of everything happening around her. Plus, the stink of trash sitting at the bottom of the river was overwhelmimg, which explained a lot. 

She willed herself not to pass out, somehow pushing through the fairly strong currents. Sure, she could do the basic strokes, but when had she ever been this strong a swimmer? It felt like she was bursting with vigor, energy tearing at her seams as she paddled closer towards the shore of the river. Everything shook her skull, far too sensitive for her own good. 

Bleary-eyed and sore-throated, she pulled herself ashore, ignoring the stares of the recovering citizens and authorities as she stumbled into the sidewalk. The noise of the city had never been so overwhelming - even after the earthquake or whatever the fuck it was, it felt like a splitting pain was attacking her brain. 

"Where is this?" she asked someone nearby in a panic, who was currently occupied with handing out water bottles. "Brooklyn," the kid replied, quizzical in his stare. "Right. Who are you?" she muttered, ripping the mass in her hair out and dropping it in a wet squealch. "Miles Morales. Um. Why do you want to know?" he murmured, heat stinging his face. The teenage awkwardness was practically emanating. 

"Listen, Miles. I really, really need to get to Manhattan. So, do you have a car?" she yelped, gripping his shoulders. "No! I'm, uh, just fifteen, but my parents have a car... I don't really know if--" 

(Who the hell had a car in New York City?)

"I need to borrow it. Trust me."

"Um, you're making it pretty hard. Can you stop..?" 

Suddenly aware of her own demeanor, she dropped his shoulders, backing away only a step. "..Sorry. But I have to get home, preferably right now. And I would like your help in doing so." 

"My... Help?"

"That's what I just said." 

 

♡ 

 

Miles was starting to wonder why him. 

Why did she want his help? He was just another Brooklyn kid. He was certain there was a dozen other black kids with scuffed-up sneakers handing out water bottles she could have picked. So why, in all of foresaken Brooklyn, had this crazy white lady run up to him with all her shoulder-shaking and screaming?

It didn't help that he had gotten bit by a spider, either. Everything felt like it was going to give him a rash on his brain, if that was even a thing.

(It wasn't.)

He could, arguably, help her out and go with her to Manhattan with literally no way to get back home except for with a car he had no licence to drive, but that seemed very stupid. Plus, he skipped his driving lessons over the summer to go do random stuff with his friends, so he had to wonder if he could actually drive a car. 

(He couldn't.) 

He let his raging stream of thoughts slow down to a steady bubbling, taking a moment to think over all the possible outcomes of this (stupid, dumb, probably-going-to-get-him-killed) decision. If he went with her, he would be in Manhattan with all the science people. As in, all the people who could help him figure out what was wrong with him, if anything at all. If he didn't go with her, his chances of getting kidnapped or killed or grounded would probably go down significantly.

"Well?" she griped. 

(Not helping.) 

Which was worse; the possibility he could be harmed or never finding out what was happening with his on-the-fritz senses and aching spider bite? 

The woman stared at him expectantly. 

"...I'll go get my dad's car."


	8. Palliative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles and MJ and the ultimate bromance between spider-people. also, I'm procrastinating writing monica and clea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why the fucc am i still updating this lmao

"A cop car."

It was a cop car. MJ was very pissed off about that fact, mostly because she had been hoping for something a bit more inconspicuous. An NYPD cruiser with blinding red-and-blue lights with a blaring siren was the second farthest thing from inconspicuous, right after a bright red fire truck. 

Also, in case Miles had not noticed yet, MJ was not a cop. Normal women who are scientists usually don't drive around in cop cars for the hell of it. And, earthquake destruction or not, this was New York City. The police were almost definitely going to be more concerned that a woman who was NOT a cop was driving a cop car than the fact that the entire city just got royally-screwed over, because life was shitty like that in this godforsaken city. 

Either Miles didn't know or he didn't care. 

"It's the only car we have right now. My mom is still at the hospital with the other one," Miles explained, clearly nervous about the idea of entrusting a random stranger on the street with his policeman father's car. Mary Jane sighed exasperatedly, extending her hand.

"Okay, okay... Gimme the keys, kid." Miles hesitated for half a second before placing the keys in her hand. She probably should have been slightly concerned that a teenager was so willing to give her access to his cop dad's vehicle, but she didn't have the time or patience to car about why he was complying with her requests. What he did was his business anyways, and MJ had a family to get to. 

Oh, God... her babies, her husband. What if they were already dead? Just another number in a news forecast, steaming corpses under building wreckage. No more family game nights, dinner dates, Mommy-and-Me dance classes for the rest of forever. 

(Okay, well, she could stand going without that last one.)

But still, as everyone who isn't an idiot knows, forever is a very long time. Emphasis on very. Never having the chance to see them again, without even having said goodbye - without holding her babies in her arms or kissing Ben - how would she survive? She would have nothing left for her. Her family would be dead, and devastation would consume her in its sharp jaws. 

Ugh! Don't think like that. 

MJ clicked the car open, sliding into the driver's seat. Miles slid into the passenger's seat. 

"What?"

What? 

She shot him a curious glance, narrowing her eyes. "H-hey! I'm coming too!" he snapped, trying and obviously failing to mimic the voice of someone who was not an anxiety-ridden teenage boy. MJ furrowed her brows in frustration, hands growing sweaty against the car wheel. Absolutely in no way was this part of the plan. She knew how tight coppies were with each other - even in another borough, someone was bound to notice the son of a policeman. Miles could not come with her. It just wasn't an option. 

"Haha, what? No. Get out," she hissed, voice going from amused to threatening in one sentence. 

"I need to get to Manhattan too! I... Um... Reason. I mean, I have one," he sputtered. 

"No way, kid. If someone sees a grown lady driving around with a kid who is obviously not hers, they're going to arrest me. And then your dad is gonna come pick you up, and do you really want your dad knowing you let a random lady take his police car AND you left with her? Because I SURE AS HELL WOULDN'T!" she spat out, venom lacing her words. Miles seemed to hesitate again, hopefully just taking a second to mentally repair his pride before getting OUT of the car. He wasn't coming with her. 

"Look, I just... Something weird is happening to me, okay? I just need... I need to find out what's going on with me. And I already know that nobody in Brooklyn can help me with that. 

"Um... I think that's called puberty, kid."

"NO! Not that! Not like that, anyways. It's something serious. I need to get to Rhodes Labs International."

Mary Jane paused. 

"I... I work there. What do YOU want with it?" she nervously asked, suddenly getting a tingling feeling at the back of her neck. Like... It was urging her to recognize something. Someone. Miles? But what about him? He was just a kid... But the tingles were incessant, almost urgent. She didn't know how. They just were. Guiding her senses toward one particular quirk about the kid in the seat next to her. 

Her eyes drifted to a tiny spider bite on his left hand, pulsating a toxic neon blue. 

His eyes seemed to catch onto her matching one on her forearm, breath catching in his throat in realization. There was a long pause before both of them opened their mouths to exclaim the same thing. 

"You're like... me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, by Rhodes Labs International, i do mean James rhodes. so yea, lmao


	9. Killer Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medusa arrives in New York City to see the Divine Bringing. It's not pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so what if this whole chapter name is a queen reference lmao

Medusa had never been to Brooklyn, nor had she ever been so openly shameless about walking amongst mouth-breathing homo sapiens. 

First time for everything. 

She had no choice; it was imperative for her to be present during the Divine Bringing. Someone should be there to welcome Mar-Vell back to existence, and it was only fitting that someone of kinship towards him be the one to do it. She had no doubt he'd be baffled to be in the throes of once again living and breathing like a newborn, especially trapped among crowds of weak human-folks. No worries - she would quickly usher him back to New Attilan, where he could then return to Hala. Then all would be well again. Perhaps the Inhumans could even conquer Earth as well once the Kree were strengthened by the presence of their strongest. 

The spaceship lowered itself onto the street pavement below, door snapping open and folding out into a staircase for Medusa to strut down. Her eyes scanned the scene around her, and needless to say, she was less than impressed. 

By Hala, she had known human society was a wreck, but this was beyond anything she had ever imagined.

Building wreckage littered the streets, humans wailed like infants with disgusting injuries, noise indicating pandemonium in the city everywhere. It all blared in her ears like an incessant symphony of destruction, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She strode out into the middle of street, her line of sight darting around. With each glance, bile rose increasingly higher in her throat. Her chest tightened as she started walking towards where she could see smoke rising from the Divine Bringing's crash site, ignoring curious and frightened gaping from the humans lining the streets. 

Something... was wrong with the Divine Bringing. It was not supposed to cause destruction and panic. It was supposed to bring back life, to restore hope! She was confident the Supreme Intelligence and the Kree would not lie to her and the Inhumans, so why did it no happen like they had told her it would? Could she even trust the Kree anymore? What did it mean? She had no regard for how this might affect the pitiful humans, but... did this mean Mar-Vell would be different, too? The Kree and the Inhumans did not need a ruthless beserker or a meek, whimpering coward. It needed its intrepid warrior who would proudly bear the Hala Star on their chest. If they could not have faith in Mar-Vell, everything would fall apart. They would have no chance at conquering Earth. 

No. She couldn't be worrying about this! Not when Mar-Vell needed her. She had to be there for them, when they tried to return to Hala. 

Her pace increased, now at a sprint. Thankfully, the crash site was hardly farther than a few moments of a dash. She quickly turned a corner, eyes alert for any sign of the Hala Warrior. 

There... 

A steaming pit of cerulean smoke await her, a massive crater denting the middle of the street. It was framed by neon blue essence dusting the rim of the crater, glowing (presumably toxic) liquid lining the inside of the hole. 

They were not here. 

Why were they not here. 

Medusa's eyes lit up in fury, tendrils of hair beginning to curl menacingly around her. Her hands began to form into sinister claws, approaching the crater before her. 

"What has happened to the Divine Bringing? And Mar-Vell?!" she snarled at the nearest bystander, who put up their hands nervously. 

"They, uh, took the meteor a while ago for studying. Rhodes Labs International, I mean. And if you're looking for someone, they might be at one of the Rhodes Labs Emergency Care Centers on the streets," the civilian explained, pointing towards a large panel of white tents with a Rhodes Labs International logo emblazoned on the flap doors. 

This would not do. 

Mar-Vell was gone. The Divine Bringing was gone. It was also very presumable that whoever owned these... Rhodes Labs had taken both of them. She was now very determined to tear this Rhodes limb from limb. 

No, no. She couldn't do that. She needed to contact homeland. They would know what to do. 

She quickly exited the scene, turning a corner into a dark alleyway. She fumbled anxiously with a watch-like gadget on her wrist, furiously jamming a power button before a blue projection flickered into view. 

"Homeland, Medusalith checking in."

The projection formed a face, familiar with a smirk plastered upon it. "Medusalith acknowledged, this is Homeland. Have you acquired the Divine Bringing and the Hala Warrior?" it questioned. Medusa swallowed nervously. 

"We... We have lost both."

"Both." The voice turned cold and threatening. 

"I-I will relocate them! Do you wish for me to bring the Inhuman Strike Force? I promise I will bring the Kree--"

"No need," the voice interrupted cutting her off. "One of our best agents is on the job. This is not a cause for concern, Medusalith. Just search for the Bringing and the Warrior until they arrive on-planet."

"...Who will the agent be?"

"Agent 8. Cindy Moon. Host of the Klyntar Symbiote. Homeland out, Medusalith." 

The line clicked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoiler alert, the inhumans and the kree arent exactly good guys here


	10. Symbiotic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Earth, Agent 8.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont even know what the hell my updating schedule is anymore

Cindy Moon sits on the floor of her cell, patiently waiting.

She isn't here because she's done something wrong, no. She wouldn't betray the Kree Empire and the Supreme Intelligence.

She's here because of that... thing.

She can feel it every second on the day, the afternoon, the nighttime. Curling around her skin, sending cold shivers down her spine. It invades her thoughts, mixing its mind with her own. Bonding them together until everything she does - every word she says, every tangent that crosses her mind is one and the same with the Klyntar's. And she will be the first one to tell anyone that it does not have a pretty mentality.

Sometimes, she can't sleep because it will scream and shriek in her brain, swallowing her whole in its gleaming vice.

Oh, the humanity. But nobody has time to pity her, least of all herself.

She doesn't entirely remember how she got the Klyntar, or how she came to the Kree Empire with it. It doesn't make a difference, because it has earned her a reprieve. She can relax safely within the parameters of the Kree Empire, provided she put her symbiote-enhanced abilities towards their benefit when they tell her to. They usually don't. They usually keep the symbiote contained, which is where she wants it to be.

Usually.

Today is different.

The Klyntar lets her hear it from far, far away when the Kree soldiers begin marching in flawless formation across the ship towards her prison block, until it's towards her cell, grabbing her roughly by the arm and jabbing a needle into pale skin. She doesn't take it personally, because she knows if they don't, her symbiote will probably go beserk on them in a bloody-ish way. Her train of thought goes woozy, and she collapses in a slumped heap into waiting arms, gently lifted onto a stretcher cot. Then her vision goes black, and the symbiote curls away. It's bonded with her, and as long as she is kept under control, it can't do anything about it.

When she reawakens, she's already in a new containment unit; a pod-like tube thing, with a clear screen allowing her to view her surroundings. She knows procedure, though; she clamps her eyes shut. A sheer combat suit composed of nano-tech starts forming around her body. It allows for maximum agility and movement capabilities, considering she won't really be needing any heavy armour.

"Come out. They need us," she hisses under her breath.

There is no response. She huffs, annoyed, clenching jer fists. "Don't be a brat. Come on," she snaps.

_I don't want to. Cccindy, we don't need them! Jusssst let me take control and we kill them all. I want to eat their facessss._

"Come on, V. Come out. Or they'll hurt us again."

Utter silence. 

And then, it happens. 

She feels something cold, almost snake-like, crawling up her back. It curls around her body, and it feels like consuming her whole. A shimmering, slime-like substance overtakes her frame, casting a thin goo over her. 

Venom has appeared. 

It looks like a white slime framing her, with a black spider emblem on her chest. It gives her the appearance of sinister, large red eyes and a snarling maw. Intimidation factor +10 or whatever. Grabbing her black locks, she whips up a messy braid to keep it out of her face.

Venom's bloodlust is quickly starting to boil in her stomach, but she forces the urge down. The pod slides open, and she is now suited up for her mission. Wordlessly, the Kree soldiers in the room escort her down an empty hall towards a ship bay, containing a single transportation unit. Her destination should already be preset, so she nods, opening the ship entrance and flopping into the pilot's seat. 

" _Welcome to your mission, Agent 8,"_ a voice over the intercom announces. It goes into a long, drawn-out speech about all the details of her objective, which is boring enough. She glances down at the mission location display on the projector screen. 

Earth. Planet Earth. 

Venom hisses and croons excitedly in her mind, clearly eager to start its killing rampage. She ignores its delirious screeches, narrowing her eyes. Earth? Why? Nothing was on Earth. The Inhumans were supposed to be taking care of all that Divine Bringing stuff. Then she would have her chance to fight alongside Mar-Vell, and the Kree Empire would claim Earth as part of its mighty legion. Easy peasy, right?

Maybe not. 

The ship's jet boosters started activating and she let out a huff of air, settling back in the front seat. There must be a reason that she was going to Earth, and she would know soon enough. 

Agent Venom was going to Earth. 

The humans would know soon enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u were wondering, yes, cindy has the anti-venom symbiote. where is the venom symbiote? you'll find out soon enough.


End file.
